Duster and All
by ghulah
Summary: Spike reacts to Buffy's demands in Get It Done.


Title:  Duster, and All

Author: ghulah

Disclaimer:  This story is based on the TV. show Buffy The Vampire Slayer created by Joss Whedon and owned by UPN (among others).  I don't own anything except the actual writing.  No infringement intended.

Rating: R (for language, mostly)

Spoilers:  Up to and including Season 7's "Get It Done"

Summary:  Spike's reaction to Buffy's demands in Get It Done.

Feedback: Appreciated! Just email me (ghulah314@aol.com) or review.

Notes:  I wrote this real quickly one night.  It took a twist of it's own (as these characters usually make the stories), but I still like it.  Look for more short pieces concerning B/S sexual tension later.

Duster and All 

                He's back.  *I'm* back and that bitch is going to pay, irregardless of how true those words were and how much I love her.  How dare she make such a fool of me.  She wants the dangerous man—the mortal enemy—then that's what she'll get.  Bloody black duster and all.  Stupid chit.  Doesn't even want the man she made: the friend, the man in love with her.  Goddamned mother fucking bitch.

                She say's she needs me.  She bloody told me that she wasn't ready for me to be gone—which, I mean, Jesus Christ!  How the hell am I supposed to take that?  What the hell does that even mean?  God the depths those words could go—then again, she could just be stringing me along for the hell of it.  What the fuck do I know when it comes to that bloody chit?  She wants me here one day, then the next, it's bloody 'I need the man who tried to kill me.'  I should just tell her to sod off then skip town.  See how much she misses me then.  Nah, bloody hell, I'd miss her more than she'd miss me.

                Another cigarette, another block.  When the bloody hell is another little nastie going to go bump in the night?  Piece of shit demons, never have good timing.  Need.  To.  Kill.  I'd like to see the First send an unbervamp my way right now.  The thing wouldn't know what the fuck hit him.  The Big Fucking Bad--that's what.  That's right, something's gotta die.

                "What do we have here?"  The voice surprises me.  Fucking demon going through the dumpster.  Goddamn.  Whatever happened to taking things the proper way—actually from the people, when they want them?  Lousy demon is strutting—yes, that's the only word for it—towards me, like he's the fucking big bad.  I.  Am.  The.  Big.  Bad.

                "Whatever happened to getting things the old-fashioned way?"  Cocky as hell, pure Spike.  I click my tongue at him and give him a once over, I glance at the pathetic pile of trash he's collected and wonder if he goes to the dump.  That's the only place you can get anything good.  But that's just me, 'cause I don't hurt humans and that whole bit.  What's his bleeding excuse?

                He says something that's supposed to be threatening and gives me the bloody once-over.  That's rich.  It's apparent from the way he keeps coming toward me that he doesn't find me to be much of a threat, which I love.  Big underneath it all.  Underestimate me, poofter, pick a fucking fight with the little vampire.  I love it when they pick the fight.  The look in their eyes, the moment before they become dust, it's priceless.  Stupid chits.  I bloody wish Buffy could see this.  Me kicking this demon's ass.  Fucking chit would like it so much she'd get off on it.

                Slayer.  Getting off.  Wow.  That'd be nice.

                Great, now I'm bloody half-hard, fighting a goddamned trash-picker.  Not what I was planning, but hey, take what you can get, right?  His blows are obvious, and easy to dodge or block.  I'm playing with him.  Maybe he doesn't know I'm a vampire.  Game face, that's what it's all about.  He knows now, his eyes giving his surprise away.  No more playing.  He's mine.  I can't help but tease him with some cocky banter.  He's earned it, after all.  But I'm too restless, I need to find someone who can hold her own.  Someone more my fighting style, someone blond, beautiful, powerful…

                God, fighting her is like one step closer to heaven.  Burns in all the right places.  So hot, so strong, so perfect—

                He's dust.  Bloody poofter.  Never lasts long enough.  I always get so restless.  I miss the days Dru would be there after the fighting, dark and beautiful.  We'd make love the whole gorgeous night.  Now I'm here, another fag hanging from my mouth, slayer on the mind and a half hard bloody cock.  Just as itching for the kill as before.  Goddamn, what does it take?  That was already ten tonight.  

                The sky is dark and brooding, but offers no answers.  It must be nearly four o clock, time to check in with mommy dearest and her soddin' Scoobies.  All the way across town.  Probably run into a couple vamps on the way.  Maybe I'll break a dozen kills after all.  The thought cheers me up a bit, but not by much.

                Slayer household up ahead.  I'm on her sidewalk when I wish I'd gotten fucked up.  A bottle, maybe two or three of Tequila.  That'd be the Big Bad, going in drunk after thirteen, yes thirteen bloody kills, to a house full of teenage girls.  I could rip every single one of them open.

                The thought makes me a little sick, though.  But I'm back, damnit.  And she's going to see that.  Bleeding bitch.

                I sense her before I even reach for the front doorknob.  I get real quiet and I can tell she's coming down the stairs.  A bloody surprise she's going to get.  As quietly as I can I run around to the back of the house.  I know she's going to the kitchen, and sure enough she's there.  Looking around casually, and then she does something peculiar.  A pause at the basement door.

                Interesting.  

                She opens it just a little, and I slip in the back door.  I'm standing not eight feet from her, but she's concentrating on what's in the basement instead of who's behind her.  She's holding her breath, focusing all her energy on detecting me downstairs.  I get up behind her and before she sees me I reveal myself.

                Low, sultry, in her ear.  "Looking for something, love?"  God her skin smells so sweet.  She's so beautiful, even when she spins around frightened.  She glows; the fire I can't touch.  Not loving, Spike, put on arrogant, self-assured badass.  Now she's blushing.  I know she finds me attractive, and she's blushing because she's imaging dirty, dirty things.  At least I hope so.  I sure as hell am.

                 I don't step back, and she's shut the door to the basement and is leaning on it.  She looks tired, but I'm not going to let her off the hook.  She wants the old Spike, she's going to get him.

                "Spike."  She's out of breath; I've really startled her.  She knows I'm not the same whipped little lap dog she left behind.  I'm scaring her and I love it.  I take a step closer.  Her pouty lips part a little bit.  So kissable.  My cock thinks so too, apparently.  I want to be touching her, but I know that's wrong.  At least when I didn't have my soul one of us thought we should be together.

                One more step corners her.  She said she was looking for me, after all.  "Right here, pet."  A whisper, dripping with sexual innuendo.  I feel kind of guilty.  Talking like this to my salvation, my goddess.  She asked for it, though.  Stupid bitch.

                She tries to shrug me off a little, but I notice she's not taken down her guard completely.  "Look, Spike, about earlier—" She sighs a little, looks me in the eye.  "I didn't mean to—"

                "To what, slayer?"  Fuck her apologies.  "Bring out the big bad?"  I lick my lips and look her up and down.  "'Cause it feels good."  I inhale loudly.  "Smells good."  I grab the leather of my infamous duster and shove it close to her nose.  I know she loves it.  Her face flushes just a little bit.  "Thirteen kills tonight, honey.  Can you smell it?  It's beautiful."

                So close.  My arm is over her shoulder and we're not more than a foot apart.  It makes me forget my point, if I had one.  Bloody chit always does that.

                "Spike I—"  She starts, now whispering like me.  I don't think she knows what she's saying.  She pauses to consider her words and I jump in.

                "You wanted the dangerous man, you wanted the killer…" I smile wickedly at her, then in an imitation of innocence, "aren't you proud?"

                But then she remembers herself.  "I shouldn't have said those things" an eyebrow raise from me makes her continue quickly, "in front of everyone."  A deep breath; Queen of Control, front and center.  "I do want the kil—fighter, though.  I need you, Spike.  To fight this battle.  To fight like I've never seen."  No more games, it's all serious now.  That is, until she gives me a half grin and looks me up and down.  I'm putty in her hands.  God, that grin is sexy as hell.  "Plus, it's not the same without the leather."  Her fingers lightly dance on the duster.

                And with that, she's gone.  Slipping out of corner I've backed her into, out of the mold I've elaborately constructed and out of the wrath of my anger.  She slips out of everything I've constructed for the night.  An angel ascending to Heaven, and I'm left to retreat to the nicer parts of Hell, with no fags left and half a hard-on from that goddamned sexy-as-hell smile.

                Bloody brilliant night, I sigh.  But at least she likes look.  That's something, after all. 


End file.
